Dear Sam(my)
by Lthien
Summary: Set before season 6: "Lisa had bought Dean a journal. Yep, one hundred pages, college ruled and all. All right, in all fairness, Dean knew he was messed up—okay, really, really, really, messed up. However, Dean had found his muse with alcohol—like normal. But...this wasn't his quote-on-quote 'normal,' binge drinking, and he knew that."
1. Binge Drinking, It's a Killer

Dean stared down at the blank page before him, his eyes hoping it would burst into flames before he even put the tip of his pen upon it. The ex-hunter hissed and tossed his pen aside, Dean reaching for the half empty bottle of Jack instead.

_This is a bad idea_, Dean thought as he took a long swig, his eyes squeezing shut_. Why did Lisa even think this would work?_

Lisa had bought Dean a journal. Yep, one hundred pages, college-ruled and all. All right, in all fairness, Dean knew he was messed up—okay, really_, _really_, really, _messed up. However, Dean had found his muse with alcohol—like normal. But...this wasn't his quote-on-quote 'normal,' binge drinking, and he knew that.

Dean drank until he passed out, then he'd wake back up (usually with the help of Lisa, and—_God_—sometimes Ben) and then do it all over again. He'd pick fights with random people on the street, usually hammered at the time, and leave Lisa and Ben worried he would never return—if not totally, partially.

Lisa had finally had enough. Yes, Sam was gone. No, she had no idea what had happened but she knew that it was cosmic…Sam had to be dead. He couldn't be alive because Dean wouldn't be here with her now if he was. Sam was dead—dead for a couple of weeks now—and Dean somehow felt responsible.

Lisa sympathized with Dean, babied him even. But, for the sake of her son, she could not take the insecurities and fear anymore. So, she gave Dean a choice: write down his woes, or leave.

Dean had nowhere else to go. So, when Lisa handed him the materials needed, he reluctantly accepted the plastic bag filled with pens, pencils, generic paperback journals, and one good-sized leather journal even his father would have been proud of.

* * *

"Dean," Lisa had said as the broken man took her offering, her brown eyes sympathetic. Dean looked up at her from where he sat, his green eyes hollow. Lisa sighed wearily, the beauty taking Dean's haggard face in her primped hands. "Things will get better," she promised him as she pressed her lips to his forehead.

_Better, _Dean had thought stiffly—lifelessly. _How can things possibly get better when the sole reason for your existence is ripped away from you?_ The press of two of Lisa's fingers against his forehead shocked Dean away from his morbid thoughts, the hunter thinking immediately of Castiel.

There was another story…Where was he? Where did Cas go?

"Stop thinking," Lisa told Dean, dipping into her 'mother tone,' "Start writing." She smiled at him gently as Dean huffed in reluctance, the ex-hunter shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"I'm taking Ben to the park, so that should give you a few hours to yourself…If you need me, call me. 'Kay?"

Dean then watched as Lisa grabbed her purse from its place upon the couch, the woman dragging her hand through her long tresses. She pulled out her car keys as she walked to the door, Ben trailing behind her reluctantly—he didn't want to go to some crummy park!

"Do you have _that _with you?" Dean asked with some late spark back in his voice. Lisa stilled, the woman looking back at her grieving boyfriend.

_That _referring to the hand-gun Dean had given her.

Ben looked up at his mom confused, then at Dean's blank face.

Lisa nodded at Dean, her lips thin-lined, before ushering out her son and closing the door behind them.

* * *

Dean put down his alcohol and let out a long sigh, carding his fingers through his hair like Sam would.

_Great_, everything reminds him of Sammy. Literally _everything. _

"Gah, let's get this over with!" Dean grunted and grabbed another pen, the man almost breaking it in half with the unnecessarily tight grip. He pressed the pen to the paper and just let go:

_Dear Sammy,_

_Yeah, before I write anything else, let me just say this: This is all Lisa's idea and I miss you. God, Sam, I miss you so much. _Not three sentences in and Dean already had to stop, the shaking of his hand making it hard to write. His eyes stung and he blinked away the tears, letting out a tired sound from the back of his throat.

"C'mon, Dammit," Dean grunted and forced his hands to stop their shaking. He promised Lisa he would try and _dammit _he will! He'd already caused them enough grief as it is; no need to add 'funeral arrangements' to the list! This time he really did snap the pen and had to get another one. Good thing Lisa had bought a twelve pack!

_...I know that I have no right to do this, Sammy. This is all my fault. I should have never let you do it. It's my fault that you're now in Hell. I will burn for this, forever. I hope I do, it's what I deserve... _Dean begins to write about Lucifer, the cage, and the Apocalypse, but thinks better of it. Lisa or Ben could read it…He tears it out and starts all over again.

_Sam, I'm so lost. What do I do? I can't live a civilian life…It's just not my style. I'm trying, I really am, but…it's just not right. I need you, Sammy. I need you here. Sam. Sammy—_Dean just writes his brother's name a few more times.

_I'm working on getting you out, I swear, _Dean wrote rather harshly as if bullying the paper to believe his words as well._ Cas has yet to speak to me yet, and I pray all the time, but he will. He will, and he'll come get you. If he can't, I will. I swear it. I don't know how—hell, I don't even know if that's even possible, but I will get you out one way or another! _

_Sam, I know how it is Down There. I lasted…a while. God, Sam. Sammy I need you to fight, you got that? You beat that son of a bitch before, you can do it again. __I'll save you, I promise. _

_Hold on,_

_Dean_

* * *

**A/N: Set before season 6 obviously, ahaha. I had a dream about this last night and I wrote this all down in one sitting…Sheesh. Idk if it's very original but it was fun, and terribly depressing…**

**Continue? Yay, nay? Comment please? :)**

**Best wishes as always,**

**Lthien**


	2. Dear Dean

_Dear Sammy,_

_It's been a month now since you've been gone, and I'm not doing so well. __I want you here, Sammy—need you here. I have tried Cas multiple times…as in multiple times a day. The bastard isn't answering me. I don't know what's wrong with him…I don't even know where he currently is. God Sam, a month is like ten years __in hell._ Dean scribbled out the last two words.

_I need to get you out, NOW._

A choked-like sound made its way out Dean's throat, the hunter blinking away tears. He slapped down his pen and pressed his face into his hands, his breathing heavy.

"…Dean?" A small voice asked and Dean immediately shut his journal, pen and all. He spun around to find Ben standing there, his brown eyes wide with worry. Ben had a hand upon the wall, as if unsure of his welcome. Dean wanted to kick himself.

"Y-yeah, what's up, little man?" Dean asked with a forced laugh, wiping his eyes as he stood. Dean put his shaking hands in his jean pockets, smile wide. Ben didn't look convinced.

"…Are you writing your brother?" Ben asked with a child's curiosity and Dean couldn't hide his wince, the smile upon his face staying only because he had forced many in his chaotic life.

"You could say that," Dean answered stiffly, his voice tight. The ex-hunter turned away from Ben, Dean suddenly interested in blank parchments upon his desk, trying to look busy.

"Is Sam visiting soon? Where is he—?"

"I'm busy, Ben!" Dean snapped, slamming his hands down upon the desk—the furniture shaking. Ben flinched back in shock whilst Dean closed his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, Benny, but I don't want to talk about it," Dean muttered, his fingers curling possessively around his journal.

"O-okay," Ben mumbled dejectedly and turned to go, his hand falling away from the wall. Panic surged in Dean's crippled soul and he quickly spun around, Ben's name upon his lips. Ben turned back around to find Dean beckoning him closer, the older man's eyes full of self-hatred and guilt. Ben went to him, Dean's arms wrapping unsurely around his slim shoulders.

"I haven't been what you wanted me to be, have I?" Dean asked and Ben looked up at Dean like he hung the moon, his eyes only showing worry for the older man.

"You're sad, Dean," Ben said softly and smiled up at his wounded idol. "Mom says everyone gets sad…I was sad when dad left. Did Sam leave you, too?"

"Y-yeah, Sam—_Sammy_," Dean nearly choked on his words, the man having to stop. Dean looked absolutely sick and Ben's eyes widened.

"You don't have to tell me, Dean!" Ben told him and hugged Dean tightly, the ex-hunter going completely stiff-limbed. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry!"

"What? No," Dean comforted, the man baffled as to why Ben felt sorry. _He _is the one who should be sorry! "Ben, don't apologize to me—ever, okay? I'm sorry for burdening you with all"—Dean gestured to himself awkwardly, his eyes hollow—"this crap…Look, dude, I'm really messed up. I shouldn't have come here—I know that, Ben. God, I should have left you two alo—!"

"Dean, shut up," Ben told Dean and the ex-hunter blinked down at him in shock. "Like I said, you're sad. It's okay to need people when you're sad, Dean…it's natural."

"Ha!" Dean chuckled and patted Ben's back. "I'm anything but _natural, _Ben!"

"Yeah, you're pretty weird, I'll give you that. But you're like seriously awesome! You know that right?" Dean looked sick again.

"…Yeah, thanks," Dean mumbled lifelessly. He looked ready to cry.

"Can I write with you?" Ben asked Dean and the ex-hunter looked completely gob smacked.

"Uh, yeah, I suppose…What'ya wanna write about?"

"I don't know," Ben shrugged and smiled at Dean widely. "I'll write to Sam too!"

Dean smiled at Ben gently. "Yeah? Sam would like that." Ben moved on to the desk, the youth clearing a path for himself—his eyes wide with boyish wonder.

"Can I use one of your journals?" Ben asked and lifted up a paperback journal, his eyes unsure. Dean nodded at him and walked back over to grab his own journal, his heart heavy again. Ben grabbed a pen from the banged up pencil holder and started writing, the boy glancing at Dean every once in a while.

"What is it?" Dean asked, amused, as he too sat back down, the man opening his journal to grab his pen.

"Nothin'," Ben said quickly—too quickly—and Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion but smiled all the same.

"And you call _me _weird," Dean huffed and turned to his own writings, the man smiling when Ben slapped his arm.

"You are weird. Now shuddup, you're distracting me…" Ben grumbled as he wrote, his tongue popping out from his mouth.

Silence fell and soon Dean was swept back into the darkest parts of his mind—of his soul. It was hours later, when his eyes burned—from sleep and emotion—that he lay his pen down, scrubbing his weary face. He looked at the clock and swore; it was nearly 2 a.m.

Dean moved to get up but was shocked when his fingers brushed clothing, and a warm arm. He looked up to find Ben asleep, the boy snoozing away upon his opened journal, pen still in hand. Dean smiled at him dearly, his eyes still red.

"All right, bud, it's obviously time for bed," Dean told him softly and pat his arm. Dean stood and began to try to dislodge Ben's mouth from his journal. The words, _Dear Dean, _caught his eye and he couldn't help himself. Dean smoothly slid the journal out from under Ben.

_Dear Dean, _it read, and Dean held his breath.

_You've been with us a month and I hope you stay forever. Mom is really happy, and so am I. I don't know what is wrong, or why you have come here, but I'm glad you did. I missed you, Dean. You are so cool!_

_Today, when you picked me up from school, my friend Will asked if you were my dad and I said yes. I hope you're okay with that. You're the closest thing to a dad I have ever known, and I imagine that my dad would be a lot like you. _Dean was truly crying now, tears streaming down his face silently as he looked down at the boy he had come to love like a son—_his _son. Ben continued to sleep, the boy letting out a soft snore that made Dean laugh and cry at the same time. Dean slapped a hand over his mouth as he continued to read:

_You always look sad, and it makes me sad too. I don't know how to make you better. What do I do, Dean? I want you to stay even though you scare me sometimes. You drink a lot, and you get hurt. I don't want you to be hurt…but you seem to do it on purpose. That's what scares me. My mom is scared you will die. Please don't die, Dean. _

_Don't give up on us. We can make you better, I promise._

_I love you, _

_Ben_

To Dean's shock, there was another note—one for Sam.

_Dear Sam,_

_Dean is sad, and he wants you to come back. Don't make him sad, please. _

_I want you to come back, wherever you are, but I feel like when you do Dean will leave us...I know that sounds bad, but I want Dean to stay. Like, really, really, reaaallllyyy badly!_

_Come back soon, but not too soon, 'kay?_

_Ben_

Dean felt as if he had been stabbed in the heart, twice. He gently put down Ben's journal and tried to stop crying. He was an idiot to think that his actions didn't hurt the others around him. Dean had always been that way, doing the worst things to himself whilst expecting others to overlook it. He had never seen himself worthy of love, or giving love.

It shocked Dean greatly when he showed up as Lisa's, his heart upon his sleeve. He was a broken man and a home-wrecker…Yet he was loved by two people he never thought he would have: Lisa and Ben.

Dean looked down at Ben, his eyes full of love.

As he carried the snoozing boy to his room, and laid Ben upon the bed—under the covers, Dean could feel something stir within his cold breast—love and the familiar protective spark he only had possessed for Sammy.

Dean would protect them—kill for them if needed be.

"'Night, Benny," Dean whispered to the sleeping boy, the man leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. Dean smiled as Ben snored loudly in response.

"Dean?" Asked a soft, sleep-ridden, voice as Dean closed Ben's door with a soft _clack._

"Yeah?" Dean whispered back, smiling, as he found Lisa in her nightgown—her hair a mess.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and his green eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

"Are you okay?" Lisa asked and wrapped her arms around herself as she felt a chill. Dean nodded and pulled her to his person, the man wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her warm shoulder.

"I will be."

"Good," Lisa told Dean and pressed her lips against his chapped ones, the dull taste of alcohol still upon his tongue.

Dean wore to himself then that he would throw out all the alcohol he possessed. He would be what Ben needed—a father—and be what Lisa deserved: a strong provider. He would make them proud, even if it meant that he would have to find another outlet—a better one.

The journal was a start, and he already had so much to tell Sammy.


End file.
